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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26011090">Like Nice People Do</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74'>houdini74</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff and Humor, I just need you to say nice person, M/M, trolling as a love language</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:54:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26011090</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: David and Patrick get into a prank war where the pranks are ways of being nice to each other. Set after 4.12.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>283</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Like Nice People Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Januarium/gifts">Januarium</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What are you doing?” </p>
<p>Patrick’s forearm flexes as he holds open the heavy door to the cafe. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting the door.”</p>
<p>“Okay, but why, though?” David crosses his arms, making no effort to go through the open door.</p>
<p>“Because it’s the nice thing to do?” Patrick is teasing him. He practically flutters his eyelashes at David as he continues to hold the door. A couple he’s never seen before duck between them, smiling their thanks at Patrick as they go. </p>
<p>“Are you breaking up with me? You are, aren’t you?” Despite what he’s said before, Patrick is never nice, not really, not without an ulterior motive. </p>
<p>“Why on earth would you think I’m breaking up with you?” </p>
<p>“This is what people do, they do nice things right before they leave, to make up for it.” Patrick’s not like that. Is he? No. It’s even worse. Patrick is trolling him.</p>
<p>“Huh. Seems to me you have a problem with people being nice to you.” God. Patrick’s going to stand here all day until David goes into the cafe. </p>
<p>“Okay, but you don’t like it either.” David scowls at his boyfriend as they take their seats. “When people are nice to you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think that’s true.”</p>
<p>“We’ll see.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“You look really good today.”</p>
<p>“What?” A confused look crosses Patrick’s face and he looks behind him as though David might be talking to someone else in their empty store. </p>
<p>“You do, that dark blue is a great color on you.” It’s true. The deep navy brings out the translucent glow of his boyfriend’s skin and the red highlights in his hair. It’s been six months and David still can’t believe Patrick maintained that gorgeous skin with bar soap and water. At least he’s convinced him to switch to one of the store’s facial cleansers, but still.</p>
<p>“Uh...thank you?” Patrick shifts from one foot to the other, practically squirming in front of him. </p>
<p>“And those jeans…” David steps around the counter. “Are deliciously tight.”</p>
<p>“What’s going on?” There’s a slightly panicked note in Patrick’s voice that makes David grin to myself.</p>
<p>“Nothing’s going on. Can’t I just be nice to my boyfriend?”</p>
<p>Patrick freezes, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, it is on.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>David has a spot in the back room of the store. It’s nothing special, just a space in the back corner where he puts his bag and hangs up a coat when it’s rainy. Patrick has his desk, which takes up considerably more room and David has this spot. A hook and a couple of shelves to put things. </p>
<p>Because it’s his spot, he sees the sign as soon as he comes through the curtain into the store room. How could he miss it, really? Patrick has found fluorescent pink paper, undoubtedly recycled from one of Jocelyn’s school concert posters. The paper is an abomination unto itself but in black Sharpie Patrick has written in block letters:</p>
<p>
  <strong>You’re a good person, David Rose</strong>
</p>
<p>The spacing got away from him on the last word and the ‘e’ in his last name is small and tucked in beside the other letters.</p>
<p>David yanks it off the wall, crumpling the paper into a ball before reconsidering and smoothing it out. He stalks into the main room. “What. Is this?” </p>
<p>“It looks like a piece of paper.” Patrick smirks at him and it’s so infuriatingly cute that David wants to manhandle him into the back room and find out what he would have to do to wipe that smile from his face. Later. There are more pressing concerns.</p>
<p>“You can’t just do things like this.” He waves the offensive pink paper in the air before dropping it on the counter in disgust. “It throws off my entire day.”</p>
<p>“David.” Patrick steps closer, hands on David’s hips, pulling them together before he kisses him softly. “You need to learn to take a compliment.”</p>
<p>His hands find Patrick’s shoulders. “You think I’m the one who can’t take a compliment?”</p>
<p>“That’s right.”</p>
<p>“Mmm. Okay, honey.” He kisses Patrick firmly, his mind churning through the possibilities. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>David slips the oversized card into the envelope, tucking the flap in and writing Patrick’s name in bold letters on the front. It had taken him the better part of two days and a number of very awkward conversations, but it will be worth it to see the uncomfortable look on Patrick’s face when he opens it. He props it on Patrick’s laptop where his boyfriend is sure to see it when he sits down at his desk.</p>
<p>Twenty minutes later, he’s thinking he might have to break down and sweep the floor just to keep Patrick from lingering when Patrick finally finishes spritzing the vegetables. “I’m going to reconcile last month’s sales report.”</p>
<p>“Great idea.” He gives Patrick an enormous smile and his boyfriend frowns at him suspiciously.</p>
<p>Seconds later, Patrick is back in the doorway, card clenched in one hand. “David. What did you do?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t do anything. I simply recorded people’s thoughts. For posterity.” </p>
<p>“Right. So Ray just spontaneously came up to you and said ‘Patrick is the perfect roommate, he always keeps the kitchen clean, even when he’s too busy to watch Survivor with me.’”</p>
<p>David nods, biting his lips to keep from laughing at the annoyed look on Patrick’s face. </p>
<p>“And Stevie just happened to say ‘My favorite thing about Patrick is how he trolls you.’”</p>
<p>“Okay, I’ll admit, that one didn’t turn out like I’d hoped.” Patrick raises his eyebrows, scanning the card again.</p>
<p>“And Alexis was just desperate to write that I’m a ‘cute little button who’s always willing to help with her homework, unlike my brother.’”</p>
<p>“That’s right.”</p>
<p>“I see.” </p>
<p>“Of course, I made sure to write mine first so that people would have an example to follow.” </p>
<p>Patrick searches the card, his ears going pink as he reads David’s note in the bottom right hand corner of the card. </p>
<p>“Oh my god— I can’t believe you—” David takes the card out of Patrick’s hand so he can reread the words he has memorized.</p>
<p>
  <em>Patrick is really hot and very good in bed. Like, so good. I’m very lucky.</em>
</p>
<p>*** </p>
<p>There’s a banner on the front of his store. A tasteless banner that probably came from the dollar store is flapping lazily in the wind on the front of his store. When he gets closer, he can make out the words.</p>
<p>
  <strong>DAVID ROSE APPRECIATION DAY</strong>
</p>
<p>“Fuck me.” He mutters the words to himself as he flings open the door. “Patrick!”</p>
<p>Balloons cover every inch of the ceiling, bobbing gently against the decorative pressed tin panels. Black and white. Of course. Filling up every carefully curated inch of his perfect store. And it’s <em>his</em> store now because after this, he’s having Patrick removed from their incorporation documents. </p>
<p>There’s a fucking cake on the counter. The words <em>Congratulations on Being Great</em> are written in red icing. He’s going to murder Patrick. But still, it is cake. He swipes a finger through the icing on the side. It’s delicious.</p>
<p>“Patrick!” He pushes aside the dangling ribbons and makes his way to the back room where his soon-to-be ex-boyfriend undoubtedly waits to ambush him. Thank god for the high ceilings or this situation would be truly unmanageable.</p>
<p>“Patrick!” He thrusts aside the curtain. </p>
<p>“Good morning, David.” Patrick looks up from his laptop, the corners of his mouth flicker and he bites down on his cheek. David’s eyes narrow to mere slits.</p>
<p>“Did my invitation get lost in the mail?”</p>
<p>“Uh…”</p>
<p>“It’s just that I see you’re having a party but you forgot to tell me.”</p>
<p>“It was a surprise?” David smirks, pleased to have caught Patrick off-guard. </p>
<p>“Well, unfortunately for you, I have to go to Mrs Patel’s farm to pick up some product.”</p>
<p>Patrick frowns, his eyes flicking to the computer screen as he clicks with the mouse. “I thought that was tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Nope, it’s today.” It’s definitely tomorrow, but upending Patrick’s plans brings a satisfaction of his own. He turns to leave, making it to the doorway before Patrick speaks again.</p>
<p>“No, look, it says on the calendar that it’s tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Gotta go, byeee!”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>He hasn’t had a chance to retaliate for David Rose Appreciation Day when the box arrives at the motel. Stevie brings it to his room, a gleeful look on her face. Thankfully, his family has left for the day. But there’s no way he’s opening the box in front of Stevie, not after the cookie debacle. He practically pushes her out the door, setting the alarmingly light box on the foot of his bed. </p>
<p>Crossing his arms, he stands back from the bed, as though the box might bite if he gets too close. It’s an average cardboard box, the flaps tucked in precisely on the top and his name written in block letters in Patrick’s handwriting on one corner. </p>
<p>“Fine.” Cursing Patrick with every fibre of his being, he wrenches open the box. Inside, he’s greeted by a pile of small pieces of paper, each one perfectly folded in quarters as though Patrick has sent him the entries for the garden club’s latest raffle. He pulls out the top one and unfolds it.</p>
<p>
  <em>Your Neil Barrett sweater with the lightning bolt is my favorite.</em>
</p>
<p>Okay. That’s very nice. He can handle this. He takes out a second slip.</p>
<p>
  <em>I love how you’re not afraid to be who you are.</em>
</p>
<p>He shakes his head, blinking rapidly to chase away the tears he can feel at the corner of his eyes. This is not okay. How could Patrick do this to him? As though it has a mind of its own, his hand reaches for another slip. </p>
<p>
  <em>You are a kind person who does good things for the people he loves.</em>
</p>
<p>Christ. He dashes the tears from his cheeks and pulls out another piece of paper. </p>
<p>Minutes or possibly days later, he’s sitting in the middle of his bed, surrounded by tiny scraps of paper when there’s a knock at the door. “David?” Even muffled by the door, there’s a note of worry in Patrick’s voice. He can’t see Patrick like this. Not with his eyes all red and puffy. “David, are you okay?” He opens the door and in a single motion, wraps his arms around Patrick’s shoulders burying his face in his neck.</p>
<p>“I can’t believe you’re so cruel.” He doesn’t want to look at Patrick, so he tightens his grip on Patrick’s shoulders, hiding his face in his arms.</p>
<p>Patrick’s hands stroke his back. “I could have made even more, but I ran out of paper.”</p>
<p>“Please don’t make any more. You’ve already gone too far.” If Patrick says anything nice right now, he might fly apart into a million pieces like the scraps of paper on his bed. </p>
<p>“Okay.” Patrick’s arms are tight around him, his body solid beneath David’s hands. When he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. “Just so you know, I mean every one.”</p>
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